Private Practices
by metro.max
Summary: Oliver Wood is a team player through and through. So why is he suddenly demanding a private practice with Katie Bell? [oneshot]


**Disclaimer:** It's all Jo's.

**Author's Notes:** Oho! Just yet _another_ KBOW oneshot for you. This came surprisingly easy to me (after I procrastinated for about two weeks) and I like it. But it's kind of weird. But I like it anyway.

So... **review** and make me happy. I have to go to History class in... two hours.

Alisa

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_Private Practices_

Oliver Wood was a team player, and as Quidditch Captain, made sure his team was as well. He believed that if one Chaser needed to work on passing, all the Chasers would work on passing. If one Beater wasn't hitting as hard, both Beaters would work on strengthening. If the Keeper needed some work, then, well, everyone would throw Quaffles at him.

This is why what happened after today's practice confused and astounded all of his team.

The practice had been long and hard, but, in Oliver's opinion (and his was the one that counted), it was the best they had had in weeks. The Chasers had pulled off passes and shots flawlessly, including a few of his plays, the Seeker had caught the Snitch at least ten times, a new record for him, and the Beaters managed not to injure anyone the entire practice, which was really saying something. It was one of those practices that made Oliver worry about the game against Ravenclaw that much less.

When the six other players touched ground, Oliver had a grin on his face that informed them of his thoughts on the practice, and his teammates grinned back.

"Excellent practice," Oliver informed them, and the Beaters shared a high-five. "Shower up and get out of here."

"We won't have practice tomorrow, then?" asked a hopeful Chaser, Alicia Spinnet.

"Same time, same place," Oliver said with a bit of cheek.

Her face fell, and she took a wild swing at him with her broomstick, catching the head of one of the Beaters instead. The offended Beater drew his own broomstick, sword-esque, and the two battled it out all the way to the locker rooms, Oliver wincing the entire time. What broom abuse, honestly.

The remainder of his team—a Beater, Seeker, and what was left of the Chasers—chuckled amongst themselves before heading to the locker room.

Oliver felt something in his stomach and heard the words slipping out of his mouth before he had the chance to comprehend them. "Oy, Bell, could you hold back? I need to work something out with you."

Good gracious, what had compelled him to say that? He didn't _have_ anything to work out with the Chaser!

And apparently, his team was thinking along the same lines, judging by their goldfish-gaping mouths and Flint-furrowed brows. Oliver could feel his ears turning pink under their curious gazes. He'd never asked someone to stay after practice before, especially not because he needed to "work something out" with them.

Oliver was a team player, and liked to keep his team playing together. If one person needed extra practice, they would do it in practice, with the rest of the team, never after. What had gotten into him? Besides, Katie Bell didn't need any extra practice as it was!

After a pregnant pause in which his Beater's gaping mouth (George, he reckoned, but he could never tell) was getting quite annoying, Katie Bell, the Chaser in question, said slowly, "Sure, Wood, I suppose I could."

She threw her broomstick over her shoulder and walked over to Oliver in steps that seemed to take forever and that seemed to be amplified tenfold in the pitch. He could hear the crushed grass wet under her trainers, could feel his teammate's eyes moving from him to Katie and back to him, trying to figure out what he wasn't even sure of.

After what seemed like an eternity to Oliver, Katie was standing next to him expectantly, a puzzled expression on her face and the Quaffle from practice still tucked under her arm. She prodded him sharply in the chest with her broomstick handle and he snapped to attention, the blush in his ears spreading to his cheeks.

"Budge up, let's go," said Oliver suddenly, shooing the rest of the team away with exaggerated hand motions. Angelina Johnson, the third of his Chasers, tried and failed to hide her giggling behind her hand. Oliver was in half a mind to take the Quaffle from under Katie's arm and chuck it at the Chaser's head, but that something in his stomach was distracting him enough to keep him from harming the girl.

When the five other players finally cleared the pitch, Katie turned to Oliver with concerned eyes.

"What is it, Wood? Is there something wrong?" Her expression turned from worried to horrified in a split-second. "Oh, God, you're not going to kick me off the team, are you? But I've been doing so well lately! Practice was nearly perfect today, even you have to admit that! Oh, you just can't kick me off the team! Kick Alicia off, or Angelina, or even Fred! But by Merlin, Wood, I swear that if you kick me off this team, you won't be the only thing that's kicking!"

Oliver watched the livid girl with her clenched fists and red cheeks through startled eyes. Opening his mouth carefully, he said, "I'm not kicking you off of the team, Katie."

She blinked, and just like that her hands were relaxed and her cheeks were pink with blush instead of fury. She bit her lip for a moment before saying, "Oh. Well, then—erm… what did you want to, uh, work out?"

Oliver opened his mouth, then paused. What _did_ he want to work out? In fact, what _was_ there to work out? Merlin, why had he even opened his big mouth!

"Oliver?"

He jumped at her voice sounding so apprehensive. Instead of turning to her face, he occupied himself with staring at her broomstick and the Quaffle that had been dropped in her anger, which were now lying in the soggy brown grass. He couldn't help but to think of how poetically alone they looked, lost in a sea of cold wind and colder attention.

"Wood, I didn't stay out here for you to ogle a Quaffle. Can't you do that in your own time?" Her voice sounded snippy, even a bit cold.

Oliver turned his attention to the girl in front of him. "Are you cold?"

Katie tutted. "As a matter of fact, I am." To prove her point, she wrapped her arms around her torso.

Oliver scuffed his shoe in the grass, unsure of how to respond.

She huffed. "If you have something to say to me, Wood, say it now, or I'm leaving. I have a particularly nasty Potions assignment that really needs tending to."

And suddenly, Katie was standing uncomfortably close to Oliver. He didn't remember her moving, so he assumed it must have been he who moved instead of her, but it didn't really matter who moved where, because either way, he was uncomfortable. And by the look on her face, so was Katie.

He watched—heard—her swallow before she said, "Oliver, if this is some new type of intimidation training, I'd just like to say that it's work—Oliver!"

Katie jerked away from him in surprise. His hands had been on her arms and his face had been leaning toward hers.

"What d'you think you're doing!" Katie demanded, placing a good two feet between her and Oliver.

Oliver felt his body closing the space between them again, unbidden, and words flowing from his mouth, unthought-of.

"I'm trying to kiss you."

Katie looked as surprised as Oliver felt, but when he leaned in again (and of his own accord), she did nothing to object.

--

Oliver and Katie entered the Gryffindor common room flushed and cold, broomsticks over their shoulders. With a quick muttered conversation, they went their separate ways, Oliver to his dormitory and Katie to the couch in front of the fire, where Angelina was sitting.

After Katie had thrown her broomstick down next to her, Angelina asked in a nonchalant voice, "So, how did the extra time with Wood go?"

A mischievous smirk swept across Katie's face. "Don't worry, we got everything worked out. But you never know," she added, an impishly knowing look on her face. "We may need to work it out again."

Angelina raised her eyebrows.

Katie's smirk widened. "I think private practices with Wood are going to become a part of my daily schedule."

**FIN.**


End file.
